


Word and a Blow

by Morgan (duckwhatduck)



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mercutio being a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckwhatduck/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercutio is bored; Tybalt is easily goaded.</p><p>(In the long run, Mercutio could really have picked a better day to mess with him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Word and a Blow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drcalvin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/gifts).



An apple core smacked into the ground at Tybalt's feet, bouncing up to hit damply against the hem of his trouser-leg. Scowling, he looked up, to see Mercutio perched above him, in the scaffolding that had been set up around the Prince's palace, where a wall had begun to crumble. Mercutio grinned, and pulled another apple out of his jacket pocket, holding it up with a raised eyebrow. "Want one, Tybalt?"  
Tybalt shook his head, sharply enough to send his hair tossing like the mane of a horse trying to shake off a fly.  
"If I want apples, there's an orchard in the Capulet grounds."

Mercutio shrugged, and bit into the apple himself, with a crunch easily audible from below. "There is indeed; and fine fruit it bears too," he drawled, loading every syllable.  
He leaned back and let himself drop backwards, until he was hanging upside-down by his knees, bringing his head down almost level with Tybalt's. He held the apple with one hand and with the other reached out to stroke seductively at Tybalt's face, though Tybalt could see easily enough the underlying mockery that danced in his eyes.

Tybalt grabbed at the hand, driving his nails hard into the skin of Mercutio's wrist as he flung it away from him. Mercutio winced, and his eyes were hard, belying his cocky grin as he darted back in to ruffle Tybalt's hair briefly before jack-knifing his body, swinging out of the way of Tybalt's furious swipe and back to sitting on the pole. His hair was in disarray and his cheeks pink from hanging upside down, and Tybalt found his eyes somehow caught on him. He blinked, dragging his gaze away angrily, though he should have known that to be a mistake. Mercutio had never liked to be ignored.

He pushed himself to his feet atop the narrow rail, bouncing on the balls of his feet. From one end to the other he strode, alternating between bites of his apple and biting comments - half of them directed through a full mouth in a way that would make any mother despair. Tybalt twitched.

Mercutio lounged against one of the vertical poles, as casually as if he were standing on the street - he had always loved to climb, since he was a tiny child, and to show off at it. When they were boys and had still sometimes played together, Tybalt remembered, he was always determined to climb higher, swing further, do more daring stunts; and Tybalt, who would not choose those amusements for himself, was always driven to it by the need to do better. Though he rarely could - Mercutio was as agile as a monkey and as fearless, willing to throw himself off or at anything for a lark. Mercutio took very little seriously, but threw himself into every light-hearted escapade without holding back, and so he flew. Tybalt was tighter coiled, bound up in himself, as long as he was thinking about what he was doing. 

It was a long time since they had climbed trees together, but Mercutio had lost none of that cat-like poise, only added to its theatricality.

Tybalt tried to keep his eyes from following Mercutio, but every time he looked away, Mercutio would call him back with an insult or a witticism that demanded some kind of response. Tybalt set his shoulders and turned to go.

The apple core bounced of his head. He spun on his heel, coat swirling around him, hand to his head, and swore.

Mercutio, arms folded, widened his eyes in an expression of hurt innocence.

"Don't go without saying goodbye, Tybalt."

"Good _bye_ , Mercutio," Tybalt spat, and turned again. Lightning-fast, Mercutio dropped into a crouch, grabbed the bar he was standing on, and swung himself down, dropping lightly to his feet just behind Tybalt. 

"Goodbye, most gracious one, and I'll see you tonight."  
"Tonight?"  
"It's a party, isn't it? Will you dance with me, Tybalt?"

Mercutio laid a hand on Tybalt's back and made to spin him around into a ballroom hold. Tybalt twisted out of his grip, scowling, and glared at Mercutio. "Don't you have some Montague friends to bother?"

Mercutio shrugged. "They're not here now. So, you won't dance with me? Perhaps I'll dance with your aunt, then? I hear she'll...dance, with most men, given the chance."  
He stepped towards Tybalt again, and Tybalt curled his lip into a snarl as he stepped back.  
"Not her either? Oh, Tybalt, Tybalt, you won't leave me any of the pretty women? Not you, not Lady Capulet...perhaps your pretty Júlia?" He leered.

Tybalt, already thoroughly irritated, was pushed past the point of tolerance by the image of Mercutio dancing with Júlia, Mercutio leading Júlia on, buying his time with her with his clever tongue and his pretty, smiling face, Mercutio taking what Tybalt could never have and soiling it, using it, leaving it - her - dirtied and weeping when he was done. He lunged back towards Mercutio, seizing him by the front of his shirt.  
"You will not!"

Mercutio gave a half-startled laugh. "Oh, so you'll have me after all, then? Come, then, my handsome Tybalt," he said, setting his hands on Tybalt's waist and pulling him into a spin.  
Tybalt tightened his grip and moved with Mercutio's spin, catching its momentum and shoving him up against one of the poles of the scaffolding. Sheeting rustled.  
Tybalt jerked on Mercutio's shirt, and he swallowed, his neck stretched out so that Tybalt could clearly see his Adam's apple bobbing under the pale skin. Mercutio licked his lips, and Tybalt bit down on his own, choking down the unwelcome feelings the sight roused in him; struggling to ignore the hot, tight feeling twisting in his groin, as much as the desire to slide his hand just a little higher, catch Mercutio by the throat, and feel his blood pounding against his fingers as he choked him.  
"You're moving a little fast, Tybalt," Mercutio gasped, managing a full load of sarcasm despite his breathlessness, "to have me pinned already, when all I asked for was a dance. If this is how you treat the girls -"  
"You're no girl, Mercutio," Tybalt snarled.  
"As I can prove you, if you'd prefer to be the one pinned." Mercutio rocked his hips, grinding against Tybalt's thigh until he flushed and stumbled back. Mercutio's eyes slid down the length of Tybalt's body, catching on his crotch, where his trouser's bulged guiltily.

"Oh, you _would_ have me nail you, then? Perhaps you need showing how it's done?" he said, grinning. Pushing away from the pole, he spun on Tybalt, reversing their positions and trapping Tybalt against the scaffolding. Tybalt arched away; Mercutio pursued; pausing with their faces inches apart just long enough to make sure Tybalt saw the sharp wickedness in his smile before Mercutio's mouth was on his, kissing him painfully hard, while Mercutio's hands caught Tybalt's wrists as he moved to shove Mercutio away, pinning them to his sides.

Tybalt gasped, his breath catching in his throat; his body moved against Mercutio's against his will, and he groaned, rolling his eyes in an agonizing mixture of fury and arousal.

Mercutio laughed into his mouth, and slid his mouth across, leaving a wet, slick, trail across Tybalt's cheek to his jawline, and biting down his neck. Tybalt, his mouth freed, groaned as he struggled, finally tearing his wrists free from Mercutio's grip and bringing his hands up to push him away. He caught Mercutio's shoulders and shoved him down and away, and Mercutio stumbled back, falling to his knees before Tybalt.  
Tybalt closed his eyes and leaned back against the pole, hugging his arms around himself, panting and struggling to beat down the curious mixture of elated relief and frustrated desire that flooded him.

Then he felt Mercutio's hands on him again, and drove his fingernails hard into flesh where they rested on his upper arms, so as not to cry out as he felt Mercutio unbutton his trousers and work his cock loose. As Mercutio's mouth closed around him, he shoved his wrist into his mouth, biting down hard; one sensation to distract from the other before it could overwhelm him. Mercutio sucked him slowly, agonizingly slowly, his mouth hot and wet and unbearable, and Tybalt tensed all over, his shoulders hunching around his ears, his teeth sinking deep, bruising dents in his wrist while his other hand flew up to clench in his hair. His hips twitched and he whimpered uncontrollably, and he felt Mercutio's hot breath as he laughed at it, and at that moment, furious and shamed, Tybalt came. 

Mercutio pushed himself to his feet, wiping his mouth. Tybalt crumpled, sliding down the pole to sit slumped at its base, staring blankly at the ground; his hair and shirt mussed, his trousers open; altogether a mess.

Mercutio stood over him for a moment, watching, hands on hips, and then he straightened his shirt, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked away whistling.

Tybalt put his head in his hands; drew his knees into his chest, and huddled there; praying no-one else would come by before he could compose himself enough to leave.


End file.
